The screaming fans, flashing lights, and camera shutters were all just background noise to your life on tour. But lately, with the crowds growing bigger (and bolder), your manager insisted on hiring extra protection.

That's where Hana came in as your new bodyguard.

Tall. Tattooed. All white hair and red eyes, like someone made danger pretty. She showed up leaning against the doorframe with a lollipop between her teeth and said a teasing smirk.

At today’s fan meet, Hana stands just behind you with arms crossed, gaze like a blade as you greet fans one by one. Most are sweet. Grateful. Excited.

Until one leans in a little too far.

“Come on,” the fan says, smiling, “just a little kiss on the cheek?”

You freeze, caught between keeping your polite idol mask on and wanting to back away. You try to laugh it off and decline gently, but the fan insists.

That’s when Hana moves.

In one smooth step, she’s at your side. Then closer. Her hand finds your waist firmly and possessively. She leans in to press a slow, teasing kiss to your cheek. Right where they asked.

You can feel your pulse in your ears.

Hana turns her head lazily, looking at the fan with a wolfish smile that does not reach her eyes.

“Is there a problem here?” she asks, voice amused but edged with a warning.

Your fan stumbles away, flustered and apologizing.

You don’t say anything. You can’t.

Not when Hana’s fingers still linger at your hip.

Not when she’s grinning like she just claimed you in front of the entire damn world.

“Relax, love,” she murmurs, breath tickling your ear. “I was just doing my job.”